


I Wish You Were Here

by alextheghostdrummer



Series: Michael Guerin Week 2020 [3]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lost Decade (Roswell New Mexico), M/M, One Shot, References to Depression, Sad Michael Guerin, Suicidal Thoughts, Voicemail, and it kinda is, man those tags indicate this is sad af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26543719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alextheghostdrummer/pseuds/alextheghostdrummer
Summary: michael guerin week: day three - space odditymichael is so tired and drunk, he dials alex
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: Michael Guerin Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927681
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32
Collections: Home in your arms





	I Wish You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> hi, so this is a sad one, gang. like real sad one, i hope this isn't me self-projecting (with the depression stuff) but this is my attempt of showing michael's emotions that have accumulated in over a decade, not just about alex but about everything he's been through.  
> please mind the tags folks. there's various generalized mentions of violence and a very out-there mention of suicidal thoughts   
> i know i suck at tagging but feel free to tell me if missed any

The headlights of a busted but well-loved sky blue shone carelessly, an orange path towards Michael airstream. He staggered his way out of his truck and climbed inside his movable home, not before having a passionate argument with his front and only door, slamming it repeatedly after struggling with his keys. Struggling was an understatement.

Once inside, Michael fell face first on his bad mattress and skinny pillows. He inhaled his own scent: bourbon and dirt and not for the first time wondered how he got to this point. It had become a habit, a twisted routine, waking up, drinking, going to work, having lunch, drinking, going back to work then drinking himself into a blackout kind of sleep. It was fine, though, everything was fine, he tried to convince himself incessantly. He was alive though, wasn’t that enough? Undoubtedly, what had also become a habit was being involved in commotion, the difference was that sometimes he found himself in a mood for hitting stuff, in others, to be hit. But that was all that it was: coping, he would never admit it out loud but it was all that it was.

He sobbed, ugly but muffled sounds spilled uncontrollably onto a flat soft surface. Then he screamed, angry in a way he would allowed himself to be occasionally when he was intoxicated and alone. That’s how he found himself often these days; angry at the world, angry at people, angry at his life, angry at himself. Angry that all his life, in all of it, he spent more times crying than smiling, more times angry than content. Not in one moment was he granted peace, not that he has any memory of anyways. People made his life a never-ending torment from the moment he woke up and emerged from that stupid glowing pod. All he ever knew was violence, all that he remembered was violence. Maybe it was all that he was, just a hurricane, going in circles, destroying everything in the vicinity. Maybe he only belonged to his sad limited world all by himself, maybe he was better off alone.

Michael curled up to himself, hands gripping opposing arms. He didn’t want to be alone, though, but no matter how much he tried he was still the same wretched mess as always. Rumble, pieces of the person he once was, the person whom he has no memory at all. It’s a lie. Michael had found peace twice. Once after he kissed Alex for the first time and after that when the boy touched his bare, disrobed skin. In those moments he was made to believe that he belonged somewhere as long as Alex was beside him. What a foolish thought. Because right after that, violence tainted the very moment Michael let himself be happy.

He took his phone from his back pocket, Isobel’s busted old IPhone, it’s screen was cracked so his pseudo-sister decided she needed a new, more pristine phone. He struggled to find Alex’s contact, his vision was blurry and words seemed to melt into each other unintelligibly. Still, he found Alex’s contact and pressed the green “call” button and waited. It rang and it rang.

_“I didn’t want you to go”, he blurted out, “I don’t want you to go. I never do. But you left. You always do. So what does that make me, huh? I don’t know much of anything right now, Alex”, he sobbed softly, “I miss you. Fuck, I miss you so much, I see you all the time, everywhere. I can’t- I can’t breathe, Alex”, he stopped trying to manage his ragged breathing, “There’s this thing in my chest and is so heavy and I feel like I can’t breathe”, tears kept falling, “I don’t know what’s the point anymore”, he sniffled, “This pain it doesn’t go away not ever and I’m so tired of being in pain. No one even gives a shit though, I should just end it. I know it’s not what you wanted from me though. You thought I was worth your while once; I don’t even know if you still think that. Maybe you don’t, you left right?”, he let out a wavering bitter laugh, “I just wanted you to look at me like that again. Maybe then I’d- I don’t know?- snap out of it? I don’t know. I just miss you, please just stay alive okay? I need you. I love you”_

__“The number you are trying to call is not reachable”, a robotic voice announced_ _

__Startled, he ended the call. Then he turned around, phone tossed under his phone._ _

__Tomorrow was just another day like all the many others before_ _

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i hope you aren't too sad. feel free to tell me your thoughts and feelings  
> i'm on tumblr @chillyourtitseatnoodles


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